A grouping of trees, but not by design, a natural place, that can feel quite divine.

I have no voice, but I can tell you the hours. I have no legs, but I travel with the sun. I shrink in the winter and grow in the summer. What am I?

I’m named like a monster but fly like a fairy, skimming the water light and airy.

Born of the day, I burn at night No fire feeds me, still I glow My maker hunts me into flight At dawn I end; at dusk I show My maker and my killer are one I am the dawn that hates the sun

You may be most familiar with the larger version of me, But I can assure you, that I can also be goat-like when seen With my mounted spear and cloven hooves, I delicately pick my way through the forest, My spear highly sought to cleanse and heal Fleet of foot, I flee from those no longer innocent in a sense I am beauty, I am grace, And leave practically no trace Do you know who I am?